


Burgfriede

by Himmelreich



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aldnoah Zero Secret Santa, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: It has almost been a year to the day that Slaine made the call to join Saazbaum's effort, but it doesn't make everything easier.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hakumei_hogosha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakumei_hogosha/gifts).



> Secret Santa gift to my dear Haku-san. Originally intended to be more of a Lemrina/Slaine focussed story, but then I tripped and fell into a puddle of Harklight feelings. You know how it goes.

The mechanical hiss of the hydraulic door opening blends into the soft flow of Slaine’s voice as Harklight crosses the threshold into the Princess’ chamber, like steel meeting velvet.

“- depending on the country, it-”

Slaine turns his head towards him in question, and Harklight bows in apology, although he is also feeling regret for his own sake. He would not mind listening to the other man on end, there was just something infinitively calming about the way he talked.

“Please pardon the intrusion, I did not mean to interrupt your conversation, Slaine-sama, Milady.”

“Slaine was just telling me about Earth,” Lemrina informs him, and it is impossible to overlook that her eyes are gleaming with joy, her voice positively vibrant with excitement in a way he has never seen her before Slaine’s arrival to the Moon Base. Her hands are clasped together in front of her chest in a gesture of youthful exuberance, and Harklight feels himself smile in genuine happiness for her.

“Slaine-sama is a very good teacher,” he agrees.

Slaine winces with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Not at all. And I keep on telling you to tone down on the formality, Harklight-san, don’t I?”

“He’s stubborn,” Lemrina chimes in, amused. “You best give it up, Slaine.”

She stresses the simple form of address, and Slaine laughs. He looks at ease like this, Harklight thinks, the rigid posture he keeps around the Count and other soldiers softening into a polite yet open stance. It was an argument between them that was less about actually sticking to principles and more about gentle teasing, at least as far as he could dare in front of others as a mere servant to a Knight of Vers.

“Let’s see about that. Is it something urgent?”

“Count Saazbaum is requesting your attendance at a strategy meeting in half an hour.”

“That means you still have some time, right?”

Lemrina has caught hold of the hem of Slaine’s uniform jacket, brows furrowed. He snaps his head around to look at her, tense for a split second before smiling again. Harklight will never forget the first time he had seen the scars on Slaine’s body during the fitting for his Knight uniform, and he wonders if the reluctance to let himself be touched by others is tied to the wounds visible to the eye or something much deeper. In this moment, Slaine bows but makes no move to touch her in return.

“Of course. Where did I leave off?”

“You were talking about winter,” Lemrina prompts, gesturing at Harklight to come closer without taking her eyes off her teacher, “and the different conditions and traditions that come with it on Earth.”

“Right. Around this time of year, the Northern Hemisphere’s experiencing winter solstice, the shortest and darkest day of the year.”

Harklight tries to imagine how it would be like if the daylight hours were not artificial in the first place, subject to the personal preference and need in the hermetically sealed buildings on Vers and within the Orbit. A feeling of utter powerlessness when faced with nature’s whims, probably.

“And it also marks the transition between years, so in a lot of cultures they tried to get rid off harmful spirits and energies and invite good fortune in some way during those days. People where I come from for example used to bring in tree branches into the house to remind themselves of spring’s eventual return.”

“But didn’t you say that trees lose all their leaves in autumn? Some bald branches, that sounds rather unappealing,” Lemrina wonders out loud.

“Oh, well, you see - they’re trees that are green all year around, and it’s not quite leaves, but needles.” Slaine makes a vague gesture and looks back and forth between the two of them. Harklight does his best to look as if he can imagine, even though he cannot, really. Lemrina appears openly sceptical of the concept. “I’ll try to show you pictures of it, next time.”

“So your father used to do that as well, Slaine?”

“Not really.”

It is an almost imperceptible change, but something about Slaine’s energy dampens ever so slightly at these words. He is never not polite and open in conversation with either of them, but Harklight had developed a sensitivity for when his master’s tone shifted to the more distanced way of speaking which was the most apparent whenever Princess Asseylum or Slaine’s life before his arrival on the Moon Base almost exactly a year ago were brought up. It filled Harklight with unease each time he noticed, and it is the same now.

“My father was usually too busy to bother with such things, so I mostly just saw other people do it. Also, he considered himself a man of science and had little connection to matters of faith, I suppose.”

“All of these traditions are based on faith?” Harklight asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from Slaine’s personal life. He can understand why Lemrina is so curious, seeing how they both share the experience of a difficult childhood, but he cannot help but feel instantly protective of his master. Thankfully, the Princess does not seem to take offence, too enraptured in hearing about the world she had spent her whole life watching from above with no chance of actually visiting.

“A lot of them, surely. Some have their roots in pagan rituals from millennia ago that survive to this day, and often they’ve been assimilated by newer religions or philosophies of life that emerged later. When two cultures clash, it always means either utter assimilation or annihilation of the weaker party.”

A moment of silent follows the harsh truth, not exactly uneasy, but Harklight knows they are all thinking about the same thing. Lemrina squares her shoulders, head held high, and Slaine again bows in apology.

“Please forgive me my rudeness,” he says. Harklight is just about to argue that there is nothing to excuse, but Slaine smoothes over his bitterness with the same ease as he navigates living among people who frown upon his heritage, still, even after all he has done in Count Saazbaum’s service. “The tradition of bringing in pine trees also carried over to Christianity. You’ll put up a small pine tree, decorate it with bright glass ornaments and candles and exchange gifts on the occasion of the birth of the Christian messiah.”

“Oooh, that sounds nice,” Lemrina turns to Harklight, eyes positively sparkling. “Do you think we could do something similar here?”

“We could get a tree from one of our allies on Earth, I suppose, but we shouldn’t have open flames here considering the closed oxygen supply, Milady.”

For some reason, his remark makes Slaine snort, which has the added benefit of diverting Lemrina’s disappointment.

“What’s funny?” she pouts.

“It isn’t funny,” he says, kneeling down to be on eye level with her and smiling. “I’d love to make it possible for you to experience it once, seeing how Harklight won’t allow it here.”

“It’s not me-” Harklight begins to argue, but then just settles on an exasperated sigh when he can see both of them having fun on his expense. Whatever it takes to keep them in good spirits, he is fine with.

“So it’s a promise?”

“Indeed it is. With the way the war’s going, I’m sure I can make good on it by next year,” Slaine states solemnly, his right hand on his chest in a Versian salute.

“I’ll hold you to it, Slaine. And I’m looking very much forward to seeing it with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Their measured steps reverberate in the metal hallways as they make their way towards the main gathering hall at a brisk pace. Slaine radiates determination, more so than usual. Harklight can see it in the lines of his back, the way his gaze is directed straight forward, and he feels it echo within himself as a surge of confidence. Nevertheless, there is an edge of pent-up aggression hidden beneath the veneer of knightly composure, and by now Harklight knows Slaine well enough to have a good idea that it is mostly directed at himself.

“Princess Lemrina really enjoys hearing your tales from Earth,” he dares strike up a conversation to distract his master, “I’ve rarely seen her that lively.”

“I’m glad. If it makes her happy, I don’t mind revisiting old memories.”

Slaine’s answer is slightly clipped, but he slows his step and tilts his head in an nonverbal invitation for Harklight to catch up to his side. It had been another point they had argued over a lot, Harklight insisting on proper distance befitting a servant when in public, Slaine refusing to talk to someone whom he could not look in the eye. Only later Harklight had realised that in the beginning, part of it had been that Slaine always expected a backstabbing of sorts, and he could not fault him for it given their environment.

“I am sorry if our continuous questioning dredged up painful experiences, Slaine-sama.”

“It’s fine, really,” Slaine assures him, although his smile is tinged with wistfulness. “Vers scrapped a lot of Terran traditions and replaced it with their own in an attempt to force the pace of the development of a national identity, not something that’s uncommon in history. I hadn’t thought about this particular holiday until today, but I can appreciate the irony.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Christians see Christmas as a holiday of peace and hope, you see, a promise that all human suffering is about to end. A century ago, then, a small conflict sparked a war in Europe that soon spread across the entire planet like cancer, and soldiers of the same faith but opposing nations were expected to massacre each other regardless of the day.”

“That’s the nature of war, though.”

“True. But you see, in multiple locations, the enemy soldiers agreed on an unofficial armistice in order to celebrate and bury their dead, and in some instances they even crossed the no man’s land of trenches and landmines to celebrate together, that’s how strongly they felt that despite their countries’ leaders’ opposing agendas, they still were similar deep down.”

Slaine does not have to say out loud how this reflects his own situation, stuck between two civilisations, similar enough to get by in either but also always going to be mistrusted as belonging with the other, and Harklight’s heart aches at the unfairness of it.

“What happened to those who disobeyed chain of command in such blatant fashion?”

“By the next year the brass persecuted soldiers for fraternisation, and by the year after that, the war had turned so horrible and devastating they were too bitter to see anything remotely approachable in their enemy, no matter their shared cultural background.”

Harklight thinks of his grandparents, still born on Earth, and of how if things had gone only slightly differently, the man at his side now could have grown up to be just any other fighter among the UFE whom he would try to crush without a second of hesitation. It had taken so little time to separate two worlds from each other beyond reconciliation, until the last remaining means of communication had turned into war.

“There are still those who believe in reconciliation among both sides,” Harklight voices what they are both aware of, given they are guardians to the most vocal ambassador of a peaceful resolution to this conflict. It had brought her nothing but unbearable pain and the loss of her own life.

“Indeed, and I’m sure there are some who might be slightly more hopeful in this season, given the cultural implications. Which is why in the meeting, I’ll advise we intensify our attacks over the next few days in order to further cripple the enemy’s morale.”

This time, it is Harklight who slows his steps to the point where he stops in the middle of the hallway connecting block B48 and C47, simply staring at Slaine wide-eyed. He turns around to face him, the smile on his face as beautiful as it is frightening.

“You must think me awfully cruel to even suggest such a thing,” he says softly. The hatred Slaine has for himself shines through only very occasionally, like glimpses of the lining of a coat worn beneath layers of armour, but in this moment it is evident to the point that it weighs down on Harklight’s shoulders like atmospheric pressure.

He makes no conscious decision and surprises himself, if he is being honest, as he throws all protocol overboard when he closes the gap that separates them with two steps and cups Slaine’s face with both of his hands, forcing him to look straight at him.

“No, I do not” he says, as earnestly as possible, trying to convey by sheer power of will all the faith in and admiration he has for this person whom he would willingly follow into certain death at this point. “In the long run, whatever will contribute to this war ending faster will be the humane choice rather than having it drag out. You are not cruel for considering what weakness to exploit in order to protect your own soldiers, Slaine-sama. To us, you are kind.”

He can see Slaine take a deep breath, and then he lifts his hands to take hold of both of Harklight’s wrists. For a second he thinks it is to fight back. He has seen Slaine engage in practice drills before, he knows he is much faster and stronger than he lets on and that if he truly wanted, he could probably cause Harklight severe harm for overstepping. Instead, Slaine only holds him in place, leaning his weight into him for support.

“I don’t enjoy cruelty, Harklight,” he sighs, and he sounds incredibly tired. “And I take no pleasure in inflicting it on others.”

“I know, Slaine.”

The name by itself still feels foreign on his tongue in such a public space, and Harklight has to pull himself together in order not to forget their current position. It is his task to protect Slaine in his vulnerable moments no matter if in private or in public, and even if his own desire is to give in to the moment, close the distance and just make Slaine forget about the incredible weight he has chosen to shoulder, about all the bloodshed, political intrigue and heartache, this is not the place for it.

“Sometimes I’m afraid that I might forget that it isn’t true myself,” Slaine says with an empty laugh, gently freeing himself from Harklight’s grip at last. And just like that, the moment has passed.

“I’ll be there to remind you, then,” Harklight promises.

The crescendo of approaching footsteps has them assume proper distance automatically in an instant as one of Count Saazbaum’s retainers catches up with them.

“You’re being waited for, Sir Troyard,” she urges politely.

“Of course, my apologies.” Not a trace of uncertainty and regret in his voice, Harklight notes with relief. “Let’s hurry, then. I have a suggestion to make as for the attack patterns for the next few days, after all.”


End file.
